Brotherly Love
by criminalxxxmindsxxxfreak
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has got to be the worst little brother ever. At least, that's what Mycroft believes. But annoying as he may be, there are things you just don't do in front of Mycroft. Like bully his little brother and his brother's only friend, Spencer. Kid!Reid Kid!Sherlock. Ties in with other fics, but can be read alone.


**Title: **Brotherly Love

**Rating: **K+

**A/N: **So here's another of these (really fun to write) writer's block erasing crossovers! This one is little Sherlock and Reid again, on one of the Holmes' family trips to Vegas after they met the Reids.

Again, this ties in with my other fics, "An Even Match", "Interesting Friends", "Casual Deductions", "Chinks in the Armor" and "Secrets and Revelations" but can be read alone if you so desire.

Sherlock is ten and Reid is about eight and a half. Mycroft would be sixteen, almost seventeen. (In case you're wondering, in this universe, Reid's birthday is October 12, 1981. Sherlock's is May 3, 1980 and Mycroft's is August 19, 1973)

I made up all the birthdays except Reid's, because that one is actually, apparently, figured out by some clever fans who have less time on their hands than me and like math. Also, this year, Reid apparently turned 30 so I'm actually a year off in my date, he should have been born in '82. But we'll just let that slide, shall we? This is, after all, an entirely AU world.

Hope you enjoy and please review!

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Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

June 18, 1990

* * *

Mycroft Holmes had been an older brother since he was nearly seven years old. And he hated nearly every moment of it. No one could blame him, not with Sherlock Holmes as his little brother. Of course, the first few years hadn't been bad at all. Sherlock was still tiny and cute and, most importantly, he _couldn't talk yet._

Everything changed when that child learned how to form words and sentences. He never shut up, not once.

Even then, however, Mycroft hadn't really minded. Sherlock was still small and cute and followed him around absolutely everywhere. Wherever his big brother was, that was where he wanted to be. Mycroft even let Sherlock read from his old text books and Sherlock constantly asked him questions and wanted his help on experiments. He looked up to Mycroft like he was some wonderful king. That, Mycroft had to admit, wasn't so bad.

Really, Sherlock had been perfectly alright for a while. But the talking just never stopped and the questions, day and night, the child never slept! Mycroft himself often had insomnia that kept him up most nights and he passed the time away reading or doing homework. But Sherlock had apparently decided the best way to pass his sleepless nights away would be to annoy the hell out of Mycroft with his pestering questions and constant babble and dear god, the experiments.

Mycroft didn't know how his parents could possibly cope with it. Sherlock would find a dead mouse and decide to cut it open – he was only eight when he did that – or take baking soda and pour it into a cola, just to see what would happen. Or steal Mycroft's clothes and throw them into the washing machine with God knows what other chemicals. Ruined his school uniform. And he wondered why no one would talk to him at school.

The child was the most annoying, impossible thing Mycroft had ever known and he hated him for it.

And now, apparently, that feeling was entirely mutual because Sherlock was currently sitting on the hotel bed, thin legs folded beneath him, glaring at Mycroft's head like he was trying desperately to make it explode.

Mycroft just ignored him, reading his book and pretending he was alone – easier than it normally would have been because Sherlock was actually silent for once in his life. Then something smacked him in the side of the head and he sighed, rolling his eyes and looking up, spotting the pillow that Sherlock had just tossed at him.

"Sherlock, I'm trying to _read!_" he snapped, glaring at his younger brother.

The ten year old huffed and crossed his arms, fixing his brother with a hateful look that clearly said he wanted him to die.

"I'm bored!" he whined, his high voice lilting. "Mycroft, can't we go somewhere or do something!"

Mycroft sighed, "No, Sherlock. Mummy said to stay here while she and Dad are gone. Watch television or something,"

Sherlock snorted, "Telly? Are you joking? Mycroft, I'm bored! Can't we go see Spencer? Please!"

Mycroft pursed his lips and shook his head, "No, Sherlock. Now be quiet. I'm trying to read!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and glared at his older brother as he turned back to his book. He didn't even finish the page he was on when yet another pillow smacked him in the side of the head.

"Sherlock! Stop it!" Mycroft glared at him and threw the pillow to the floor, shaking his head and going back to his book once again.

"But Mycroft!"

"No, Sherlock!"

"But –"

"Will you shut up!"

Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms again, glaring at him. He was silent for a good five minutes before he finally jumped off the bed and made a dash for the door. Mycroft was just fast enough to stop him, shoving the door shut before Sherlock could slip out.

"Mycroft, I'm bored!"

"You've already informed me of that," Mycroft said, glaring down at his brother, "What do you expect me to do? Mummy said –"

"But Mummy isn't here!" Sherlock whined, "Please, Mycroft, please!"

Mycroft very nearly caved right then and there, those big blue eyes and that pouting face were still adorable even if Sherlock did act like the Spawn of Satan sometimes.

"No, Sherlock, I'm sorry," he said, "Wait until Mummy and Dad get back, then I'll take you to Spencer's."

Sherlock huffed again and stamped his foot, "I could die, Mycroft!" he practically screamed, jumping back onto the bed and burying his face in a pillow. Mycroft rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

"So dramatic," he muttered, "Sherlock, you can't actually die from boredom."

"Can too," Sherlock said, his words muffled because his face was still pressed against the pillow. "If my brain starts melting out my ears because I'm bored, I'll die and it'll be all your fault because you let it happen and the cops'll come and they'll arrest you and you'll never see the light of day again because you killed your baby brother!"

Mycroft just rolled his eyes and ignored Sherlock, who stayed face down on the bed, muttering to himself. Just as he'd gotten back into the book, the bed jolted and he looked up to Sherlock, standing on the edge of the bed, fixing his older brother with a look that was nearly terrifying.

"I want to go to Spencer's," he said very seriously.

Mycroft raised a brow and put the book aside, "And I said no. We aren't supposed to leave the hotel, Sherlock."

"I don't care," Sherlock said, "I want to go to Spencer's."

"You'll have to wait, Sherlock –"

"I want to go _now._"

Mycroft sighed, "It's not going to happen, Sherlock, you –"

And Sherlock screamed. Dead Lord, that piercing scream nearly deafened the sixteen year old and he lunged, knocking his younger brother off the bed and clamping a hand over his screaming mouth. It worked for a moment, until Sherlock bit him.

"Damn it! Sherlock, shut up!"

But he just kept screaming and Mycroft glared at him, scrubbing the spit off his hand and watching his brother, lying on his back on the floor now, scream his head off.

"ALRIGHT! FINE!" Mycroft yelled over him. And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Mycroft sighed in relief and grabbed his coat, "I'll take you to Spencer's, alright?"

The ten year old was now grinning from ear to ear as he jumped up, dark curls bouncing, and grabbed his shoes and coat, nearly bouncing in anticipation. Mycroft sighed and wrote a quick note to their parents explaining that Sherlock had refused to take no for answer and that they would be at the Reids'.

"Come on, Sherlock," Mycroft tugged the door open, "Let's go before your brain starts melting."

* * *

**~/.\~**

* * *

"Mycroft! Sherlock!" Diana Reid answered the door, clearly one of her better days, "Good to see you boys. I thought your mother said you wouldn't be by until later?"

Mycroft motioned toward his brother, "Sherlock couldn't wait,"

Diana smile, "Ah, well, Spencer's up in his room, Sherlock, I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

Mycroft watched his little brother dart up the stairs and pressed his lips together. Diana smiled, "He's a handful, isn't he?"

Mycroft just shook his head, "Every second of every day,"

Diana laughed, "Well, that's why you love him, isn't it?"

Mycroft made a face that clearly said he did not 'love' his little brother. In fact, if he could sell him to Gypsies, he probably would. But they wouldn't want him. Spawn of Satan and all, pretty difficult to market to anyone in their right minds.

Diana just smiled and shook her head at the teenager, "Oh, of course you love him," she said, "Brothers just have a different way of showing their love."

Mycroft snorted and Sherlock and Spencer came down the stairs, Spencer holding a glass jar and looking just a little bit confused as Sherlock dragged him by the arm out the front door.

"Wait!" Mycroft ran after the two of them, "Where are you going?"

"To the park," Sherlock said, "To collect bugs."

Mycroft frowned, "Collect bugs for what?"

"He wants to do another experiment," Spencer said, "He won't tell me what." He frowned and Sherlock crossed his arms.

"'Course I will. Just not now. So c'mon, Spencer, let's go."

Spencer sighed and followed the older boy down the street, neither of them paying attention as Mycroft followed at a short distance behind them. Sherlock was used to his older brother following him everywhere. He absolutely hated it. Why couldn't he just leave him alone to think? He wasn't made of glass! He glanced over at his younger friend and frowned. Spencer might as well have been made of glass, though. Maybe Mycroft tailing behind wasn't _such _a bad thing.

* * *

**~/.\~**

* * *

The park was fairly crowded by the time Sherlock and Spencer, with Mycroft still following behind them, arrived. The two younger boys immediately ran off to do their bug collecting and Mycroft took a seat on one of the benches. He felt sorry for Spencer sometimes; he was sure Sherlock would have him carrying most of the "specimens" for this so-called experiment of his. But then, for whatever reason, Spencer was just as happy to have someone he could talk to about things that most adults probably wouldn't understand.

They were just within his range of sight for several long minutes until Sherlock, holding the jar full of crawling creatures, tugged Spencer towards the basketball court, pointing at something excitedly. Mycroft stood up to move to another seat where he could see his brother and Spencer better when he noticed a group of three boys – about ten or twelve years old – approach them. He narrowed his eyes and stood back for a moment, watching as one of them shoved Sherlock to the ground, sending the glass jar rolling away, though thankfully not breaking it.

Jaw tight, the elder Holmes brother made his way to the two boys, growing angrier and angrier by the second as he watched from a distance.

Sherlock was back on his feet a moment later, saying something angrily to the boys, one of whom had shoved Spencer down as well. The eight year old looked terrified and Sherlock grabbed his hand and pulled his back to his feet, glaring at the boys.

Another of the boys grabbed the glass jar of bugs and twisted the cap off and shook the bugs that were inside. A few of them escaped immediately, flying away, and Sherlock protested, trying to grab the jar back from them and shoving one of the other boys to the ground, but the biggest and oldest boy grabbed Sherlock by his collar and the boy with the jar stood in front of him, turning it over and shaking it over both boys' heads, bugs tumbling out and into their hair.

Mycroft quickened his pace, and he could just hear his brother's angry voice as he scrubbed the bugs off of him and turned to Spencer, helping him do the same.

A moment later Mycroft was towering over the boys and the three bullies turned to stare up at him, wide-eyed and suddenly uncertain. The boy holding the glass jar dropped it and Sherlock was immediately on his knees, grabbing it and trying to shove the escaped bugs back into it. Spencer was just standing there, staring at the ground, lips quivering like he was about to cry and Mycroft saw a tiny amount of blood trickling down his leg where he'd skinned his knee when he'd been pushed over.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Mycroft glared at the three boys, "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice soft but somehow terrifying.

"Nothing," the oldest boy said, "Just having fun."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "Fun? I see… Well, in the future you might consider having your fun with someone else's brothers, because I can assure you, if either Spencer or Sherlock are bothered by you again, my father can have you all kidnapped from your homes in the middle of the night and sold into child slavery in China."

The boys blinked, even the oldest boy looking scared then.

Mycroft frowned when they remained standing there, "Now leave," he snapped. They scattered immediately and Mycroft watched them go before checking over Spencer's scraped knee.

"You'll be alright," he said, "Just tell your mother to put a bandage on it."

Spencer nodded and pressed his lips together, about to say something when Sherlock stood, huffing and holding his jar, only a few bugs still inside.

"We didn't need your help, Mycroft!" he said, frowning at his brother, "We were fine! C'mon, Spencer, we need to find more bugs!"

He spun away and stomped toward the opposite side of the park. Spencer hesitated and frowned up at Mycroft, "Why did you say 'brothers'?" he asked, "I'm not your brother."

Mycroft smiled and shook his head, watching Sherlock's receding form, "Sometimes, Spencer, I wish you were. Now go keep an eye on Sherlock for me, would you? Don't need him getting himself into any more trouble this afternoon."

The eight year old smiled, "Thank you!" he said quietly before running after his friend, "Sherlock wait up!"

Mycroft sighed and shook his head in amusement as he watched the two boys hurry away, in search of more bugs for Sherlock's experiment. Perhaps having Sherlock for a brother wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to him… His smile faded as he thought about those bullies and he made his way back to the bench. Of course, if anyone else ever bothered his brother, he'd have to kill them. That was a job reserved solely for brothers, after all.

* * *

**~The End~**

* * *

**A/N: **I think I had more fun writing this than any of the others. Hope you enjoyed it! And I hope I did a good job with Mycroft's character.

Please review and let me know!


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